


The Gift of the Guileful Governess

by Darklady



Series: Losing the Strand [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, Gammon - Freeform, Gems!, Get-Away!, Given the Slightest Provocation, Gleeful Abuse of Canon, Gold!, Guile - Freeform, M/M, girls!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes has a client and a case, but neither seem to be holding his interest as much as does taking John Watson out for a vacation in the country - and Holmes doesn't even like the country.</p><p>John Watson now has two mysteries to solve, and only one of them involves a missing governess. The deeper question is - what is up with Sherlock Holmes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of the Guileful Governess

_It is with regret that I lock this account away with my private papers. Unlike the others I have so confined this one would be fully suited to the taste of the editor and reader of Strand Magazine. It is unfortunate, then, that the revelation of these events would be so unpleasant to those Sherlock Holmes and I value more. I refer to both an old client who I much admired our earlier days and a young lady who I have come to admire more recently. Sadly, while to my mind their actions and ours both before and during the time of our investigation was proper – even noble – British law and the British public might judge otherwise._

 

©0©0©0©

I came from the back chamber to see Holmes already in company. The visitor was a heavyset man of rough complexion. Of his expression I could gather little, his features being obscured by a thick black beard and heavy brows, but what could be seen gave scant hope for gracious amicability. He stood athwart our parlor carpet like a sailor at mast, but Holmes was as little obstructed as the wind.

Let me state now, for those who might doubt my character, that it was not sloth that caused me to be so behind in my arrival. I had arisen at my usual hour and proceeded shave and dress in keeping with my custom. No, rather it was my partner who had – in contradistinction to all habits and expectations of our years together – chosen this once to make an unnaturally early start on the day.

In saying this I do not suggest that he had adopted my conventional industry. He was dressed only casually, his shirt open and a quilted Persian robe taking the place of vest and jacket. Despite this, the spread of papers before him testified to his attention.

The great detective rested on the slipper chair, his chin resting on his musician’s fingers. “Dr. Watson.” His summons was immediate. “What do you think of our caller?”

Thus is a man endangered by his stray thoughts. I struggled to grasp both my expression and my courtesy.

“If you will allow my friend’s humor?” I demurred to our visitor, “I hope I do not offend to state you are a man of some solid business, and from the value of your watch and cane I speculate say you have brought yourself more wealth than most. Your compass fob suggests you have spent time at sea although you have not the worn hands of a sailor. Your boots are of the best quality, your suit of more common make and quite new. Thus you wear black for mourning rather than by taste, and so I extend my condolences.”

“You come on well, Watson, for all you falter at the last gate. Mr. Vernon Hargrave is indeed a merchant in the Berma trade, although in recent years he has expanded his ventures to China and lesser ports of the East so that his true wealth is threefold what is suspected by his competitors – or indeed by the taxman.”

“But! Let us waste no time on circumlocution, Mr. Hargrave You call on me for a purpose.”

“I do, sir, and I gladly confirm I am as you declare, for it gives me confidence that all else spoken of you is true.”

“No man has only truth spoken of him, but if you speak of my profession than this once rumor does not lie.”

“So I have hope, Mr. Holmes, that you can respite at least the last in my train of losses.” He wiped his eye with a large buff handkerchief. “Your pardon.”

“I am not normally a man of emotion.” He began. “No, Mr. Holmes. I pride myself that I have lived a most rational life, disposing of my duties however heavy without complain or hesitation, yet every man has his limit, Mr. Holmes, and I have reached mine.”

“I must begin some six months back with the first tragedy of my house. No. Let me amend that. The first tragedy was the death of my elder brother George some twenty years back. He died ion the way back from Burma along with his wife. I had never approved of the marriage. She was a Cantiniére in her youth, and something of a dragon. While they lived abroad it was no business of mine, but now I was left the guardian of his only child, a daughter named Mary Catherine.”

A sturdy chain indeed if it can be suspended so far, I thought, but said nothing. This was Holmes’ mastery, and while he endured I would show no impatience.

“The child never recovered. She was never strong in body, and worse in mind, alternating between black fits and intransigent rage. What man could deal with that? I purchased a house in the county, a hill estate named Olipherts Eyre. It was a quite spot where her nerves would not be agitated. There I trusted her nurse to see to her care.”

“Matters continued until the time I stated, some six months back, when the village suffered from an outbreak of typhus.”

I did recall that. The disease is not so common as it once was, the Metropolitan Board of Works having done with porcelain what five centuries of churchmen could not with prayer and succeeded in removing the filth from the city water supply.

“My niece, of course, was safe in her quarantine, but her nurse was less fortunate.”

Thus his fragile, sickly niece was left at home.

Something in my face must have betrayed my thoughts, or perhaps he perceived for himself how the narrative appeared, for he swiftly moved on.

“My business at the time was in a delicate point, such that I could not immediately leave. I telegraphed immediately and arranged though the Westaway Agency to supply her with what they promised – what I demanded – was the finest and most experienced governess in their ledger.”

Exhausted by his narrative, the man collapsed into a chair. 

“Oh, a man is ever deceived who trusts a woman, Mr. Holmes.”

“I perceive that you were disappointed with Westaway’s services.”

“Disappointed? Call me rather betrayed, Mr. Holmes. Miss Stoper sent out some flighty child who, instead of tending to her duty, ignored my niece to flitter around the village and flirt with some penniless uniform.”

“You dismissed her when you discovered this.” I left the tone a question, although the words were not.

“I certainly should have dismissed her if I had discovered it, Dr. Watson, of that you may be sure.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “If you have not learned of it you could not inform us now.”

“There lies my third tragedy, for a month ago, while I was still in Rangoon, I received a telegram saying that my niece had also died.”

“The cause” I inquired.

“A seizure of the brain.”

“So young?” Mr. Hargrave had not given an age, but by reason a child still in nursery two decades back must be below thirty today.

“No doubt it was brought on by her nature. I had done my best by her, but blood will tell.” He paced, trouble setting his march along the parlor carpet. “I took ship for England, but by the time I arrived at Marwood my niece had been buried and the governess had skipped town with a Lieutenant.”

“You loss is tragic, but hardly actionable,” I was forced to correct him. “The law can not shackle the hand of God.”

“No, but it can cuff the hand of a thief, for that is the fourth and final tragedy. You see, when my brother left Mandalay he brought with him not only the wealth he had made but also a valuable – near priceless – parure of rubies. I should assess it at no less than half of his estate.”

“How was that lost? Surely you kept it in a bank?”

“The jewels were not in my guardianship, being left by her mother’s will directly to my niece, and Mary Catherine loved them as a memory of her mother. She wore them often as a child, dressing up in her pinafore.” He sighed. “You may think it folly to leave her such playthings, but they were her property. In the country I did not think it so great a risk to leave them with her, not compared to the storming and upset that came with trying to remove them. There was a safe, you see, and she was reasonable in letting her nurse lock them away when she did not wear them.”

“Then the gems were taken from the safe?”

Hargrave shook his head. “When I arrived, intending to close and sell the property – for I need no house in the country – I naturally went to check the safe. When I opened it, the gems were gone!”

“Did you call the police? Surely they came.”

“Indeed, Mr. Hargrave. I know few would consider such things, but an empty house can lure thieves in the country as in the city. Indeed, Mr. Holmes has often taught that the isolation of the countryside can be a greater danger. A city burglar must fear noise and witness, but a country thief may work quite undisturbed.”

“The safe wasn’t ransacked. It was locked as tight as you wish, and the estate documents and accounting snug inside. Only the rubies were gone.”

“And you have no suspicions?”

“I don’t suspect. I know. It was Violet Hunter, damn the bold baggage ”

“Miss Violet Hunter, who you hired though the Westaway agency?”

“That very one.”

My eyes shot to Holmes. He must have recognized the name, for his memory is as enduring as mine is fallible, yet he gave no sign that of perturbation.

This remained my play.

“How are you certain of her guilt, if you will allow the question?”

“I asked her, that’s how I know. I rode down and confronted that thieving chit, and do you know what she had the gall to tell me?”

“I assume that she protested her innocence.”

“No sir! Nothing so modest. She said, bold as brass, that she had the gems and she had the right to them. Produced a document from my niece, signed and witnessed, that the gems were a gift to her ‘in recognition of her service and loyalty’. What do you say to that?”

I thought there was little to say, but as Holmes would not take command? Often it is my duty to wade though the heavy waters.

“You said your niece was of an emotional composition. Perhaps she took a sudden passion to the young lady, or acted with a frivolous impulse in the perception of her own death. As a physician, I must testify that many in extremis act particularly. Such things you my try in Chancellery, although experience tells me that such matters are a ruin to both mind and pocket. We can do you no good at all.”

“No, no, Watson!” Holmes was alert now, his aspect that of a hawk slipped of the jess. “Again you course well yet fall at the last hurdle.”

Holmes took the floor- prima donna de la theatre, maestro, ringmaster – and I knew he cherished the way both Hargrave and I fell mesmerized at his word.

“I perceive there is more to this than so simple a madness. Mr. Hargrave. I shall take your case.”

“I thank you.”

“Have some tea. We must work on practical details.” Passing to the cabinet, Holmes retrieved the Bradshaw’s Railway Guide. “You say you went to close the property. Have you sold it yet?”

“Sell Olipherts Eyre?” Hargrove replied. “No, Mr. Holmes. I have had no time.”

“Excellent. I shall need to examine it.” 

Holmes must have found the train he wanted, for he jotted down two lines on a scrap of notepaper. 

“You are welcome to it, Mr. Holmes.”

“What of the staff?”

“The servants, Mr. Holmes? I dismissed them.”

“That is unfortunate. I might want their testimony.

“Then I hope you shall find them there. They were all local people. All except for that scheming hussy of a thief.”

“Can you give me their names?”

“Ann Epsey was cook and housekeeper, and her husband did such tasks as the grounds required.”

That was indeed a small household, even if there were only the girl and her guard-dragon in residence. 

“Dr. Watson and I shall take the first train down in the morning.”

“If I do this you will get back my jewels?”

“I am confidant it shall be possible to return them to the house. Yes, very possible, if gone about in the right way. Of course there will be the matter of my fee. One thousand pounds, plus the expenses of our week’s work. Train tickets and such.” Holmes’s smile was thin as a knife. 

“A thousand pounds!” Hargrove staggered.

Holmes shrugged. “You may go elsewhere if you chose, but those are my terms.”

Our visitor agreed, if with no good grace, and at his departure Sherlock Holmes deposited a thick fold of bills into my hand.

“Holmes? What are you about?”

“You should be pleased, Doctor Watson. You have been pressing me to take some healthful country air for my lung’s sake. Now we shall have acres of it.”

“But to so gammon the man”, I protested, for I knew my friend could not seriously suspect the governess. Miss Violet Hunter was an acquaintance of ours, a client from the early years of the practice, and a lady of personal and professional repute. I had not seen the lady in over a decade, but hers was the sort of character than did not decay over time. That she might marry I could believe, and that she should marry into the navy seemed perhaps possible, but that she should steal a dowry defied imagination on every level. These I protested to Holmes in the strongest terms.

“Please, my dear friend, do you not know me better that? I told him what I will do, and do that single thing indeed I shall. If he mistakes the villain of the piece or misconsiders the solution, this falls not against me.”

“But the price Holmes! To ask for a thousand pounds!”

That was ten years income in our early days, and the price of partnership in a good practice even now.

“I shall need some of it, Watson, for I must hire other experts in turn if this matter is to fully be uncovered.”

©0©0©0©

“First class tickets, Holmes!” I fear I was yet berating the issue even the next day when we arrived at the seaside market town of Marwood.

“Be thankful that Marwood is on the line, or we should have the cost of a special. That is five shillings a mile at the least.”

“You could never think that!”

“We have a client Watson, and one with deep and generous pockets.”

“Deep yes. Generous?” That was the opposite of how I would describe Vernon Hargrave.

“I shall wager you this months rent that at the conclusion all shall be called money well spent.”

There he had me, for never was I one to refuse a wager. “Make it this month’s breakfast tea and you shall have your bet.”

“A high stake, my dear friend, for you know the morning floor is colder than a beggar’s shilling, but I will shake on it all the same.” He held out his hand. 

We shook on it, and I knew that – warm though the bed may be – he would keep his bargain. Or I should – for experience had taught me that Sherlock Holmes was seldom caught wrong in his predictions.

We left our bags to be called for and walked the short blocks that made up the village street.

“What a salubrious spot, Watson.” Holmes tucked his thumbs into his vest, a slim pantomime of the Punch character he spoofed. “Every thing cozy and picturesque that would might desire of an English country town we see laid out before us. I do feel more patriotic with every breath.

“Holmes, did I not know your humor I would swear you mad.”

“Only north northeast, and the wind, you note, is southerly today. Pleasant, is it not?”

“Very, in good company.”

He raised his hat to a passing matron. “Then I shall be so.”

And Holmes was good company, quite transformed from his usual aspect. Had this been his common habit I should have been writing note about his marriage rather than inventing my own.

He took off, leaving me to follow in his wake. 

He ended in the local provisioners shop. 

The proprietrix hustled out from the rear chamber as Sherlock entered. She was a woman of middle years, not aged but past youth, with pink cheeks and a sturdy frame. Her brown hair was knotted up under a cap, giving a slightly untidy air that was refuted by the good order of her stocks and shelves.

“Good evening, Madam,” Holmes addressed her. “I hope I may trouble you? I shall need to purchase dinner makings – a tin of tea and some of that very fine looking cheese, to begin with – for we are headed for Olipherts Eyre and have had no chance to prepare the pantry.”

“Olipherts Eyre? That’s the Hargrave place.”

“We are friends of the family.”

“Didn’t think she had any. Some distant uncle but we never saw hide nor hair of him, and just as well I say. Leaving a sweet thing alone out there.”

I waited as Holmes increased his order, ending with quite the little pile of delicacies.

“Did you know Miss Hargrave?”

“Never saw her. The old woman came to town when need pressed, mostly to pick up orders at the station or to buy what couldn’t travel, but of her charge we saw not a hair.”

“What about Miss Hunter? 

“The governess? Well enough, I should think. She was a sweet young lady.”

“Popular?”

“I liked her, and if anyone else had a word contrary they did not speak it to me.”

“How about with the young men.”

Our shop lady gave a raw country chuckle. “Oh they liked her very well indeed. Not in a bad way, you understand. Nothing against her character, but you know how young men are and she was a pretty thing. Would have been beautiful were it not for the glasses.”

“Oh?”

“Week eyes. She wore blue glasses. Dark ones that blocked half her face. Tragic, that. Only to be expected from all that study, her being a teacher and all, not that you’d know it to speak to her. Nothing of the bluestocking about her. Nothing at all.”

“Was she fond of her charge?”

“I never heard a word of complaint. Well, there was that one time, but it was nothing.”

Holmes leaned closer, wordlessly pressing for the story.

“We’ve got a bit of navy in the town, you ken, and they make up a fair part of the pastimes if you’re young. She paused, wiping her hands on her white apron. “No harm in them, mind you. Their officers keep the leash on them, and we’re as glad of the business as anything.” 

“Miss Hunter disliked them?” 

“Nothing near! More that some of the young men were going on a picnic, but Miss Hunter had promised to go to Bexhill to get some special yarn for her employer. Fearsome knitter Miss Hargrave must have been. Wasn’t Kate Hunter bitter grieved that day.”

Reaching for the paper, she began the wrapping of our purchases.

“It worked out in the end. Lt. Wright borrowed a noddy and drove her over.”

“So she was content?”

“Well enough if she married the man.”

I – and none should be surprised – ended up carrying the package. It was no light thing and I was glad the cost would not come from the household account.

“Are you finished?” I asked as we made our way back to the station.

Holmes took my arm. “We should go to the house soon, but first let us have a mug of beer. Perhaps in that very tavern just past the boundary post.”

The day being warm I made no objection.

The tavern in question was as fresh and snug as the rest of the village business. The sign over the door, painted in nautical emblems, named it the Three Oars.

The place was busy, likely because the beer was a good as the service. 

“Will you not drink, Holmes?” I gestured to the pint he was ignoring.

“I was just noting the large number of navy officers. I hope that does not discommode your army soul.”

“I have dealt with the navy Holmes. What English soldier has not?”

“Excellent.” He pushed his untouched mug to my side of the booth. “Then have a word with the Captain in the corner and find out what ship he serves, and all the other matters.” Standing, Holmes reclaimed his hat and coat. “I’ll see to the baggage-wagon. You may join me when you are done.”

It was another hour and much of my pocket change before I escaped to the rail yard. My partner was waiting in the wagon, having negotiated the employment of horse and man.

“Holmes!” My glare burned the space between us. “You owe me. Never have a suffered a greater bore.”

“Bores are useful, Watson. They speak so much.”

“From which truth I can report on the ship movements as if I were your brother Mycroft.”

“My dear doctor, do spare my mind such images. They utterly destroy the vigor I have gained from all this fine country air.”

“I should not want that.”

©0©0©0©

Of the trip to Oliphant’s Eyre I need say only that it was long and made the longer by the poor maintenance of the roads. The rut from Marwood to the long drive was foul enough, but from the gate to the house it was as if no wheel had marked the path in my generation.

"Did you know the family?” I asked, trying yet again to make conversation with our taciturn driver. 

“I don’t know nothing nor say nothing, and that’s good with me”, he grunted. “I picks up the boxes at the station, I bring them round here, and I leave them.”

With that last he did as much for us, tossing passengers and bags at the front walk.

“Grim place”, I remarked, looking up – far up – at the gray stone building. 

“The building is in the medieval style, back when farmers feared bandits rather than the Inland Revenue. Only a century back the coasts hosted as many smugglers and fishermen, and walls like this protected both.”

“So they may have, back then, but we live in civilized times.”

“Do you say that, given you live in London?” Holmes scoffed.

I laughed, but only to show myself unpersuaded. “I should not want to live here.”

For all my distaste, the house was not an ill maintained.

In volume it was quite extended, raising three stories over the yard, but I knew from my travels the appearance deceived, for some of the interior would be given to a walled courtyard. What peaceful times allotted to gardens would there be a shadowed stone floor behind a double grill. The windows were few and narrow, placed high in the thick stone and shadowed by a slate roof. Thin wooden steps rose to a door set over a sunken basement that would have served a medieval tenant as stowage and barn. In a town spot it might have been romantic. Here it loomed as a young girl’s grave.

Holmes had the key and we let ourselves inside.

“No hope for gas lamps, I will assume.”

“Kerosene must suffice, but the house has not been vacant so long that the fuel will have evaporated. Unless the departed housekeeper was malicious as well as slothful?” Holmes struck a match, and lit the chandelier lamp hanging past the entrance. “Is that light enough for you, Watson?”

I agreed, and started my exploration of the interior.

The residential section was not large – little more than a prosperous cottage – with five main rooms. There were, in addition to the hall where we entered, a parlor, two bedrooms, and a rustic kitchen.

That last was served by a pump.

Firing the stove, I filled a large vessel and set it to boil. Likely the house well was safe, but I had not forgotten the disease that had taken Miss Hargrave’s nurse. Besides. Holmes and I should want to wash before we slept, and the kitchen had given a depressing prophesy of the state of plumbing in the rest.

I disposed of the provisions on the granite counter, there being no ice in the icebox.

Holmes carried our bags to the bedroom.

Of the two bedrooms one was bare, stripped of all save the frame and furnishings. I could not sleep there. Given my suspicions as to the cause of the prophylaxis, I would not want to.

The other bedroom must have been Miss Hargrave’s. The room was large, and would have been fashionable in my youth. All was of the highest quality, although the upholstery and coverlets showed the mark of long wear.

“He did not deprive her of luxury”, Holmes observed.

“No,” I replied, “only of comfort, the comfort of human company.”

Bags disposed of, we moved on.

The parlor was in good order and save the dust might have graced any gentleman’s estate. In furnishing the room had the nature of a library, two inner walls being floor-to-ceiling shelves. The volumes covered the universe of human study, from history to the sciences, as well as the better selection of novels and poetic works. Two globes, one of the terrestrial and a smaller of the lunar sphere, flanked the fire. I could envision Miss Violet Hunter as a governess in this place.

The parlor had one unique feature. A day bed had been placed near the fire and furnished with rugs and pillow such as might comfort an invalid. A deal table stood at elbow, and on it a small bottle of green glass with an eyedrop stopper.

I read the chemists label. Chlorodyne. 

“This is a strong narcotic”, I told Holmes. 

Holmes inspected the bottle closely. “Could a great dose have caused heart failure?”

“A great dowse can stop any heart”, I began, only to correct the diagnosis on a thought. “That great a poison would have been noted. The action would be to slow the breathing, and then the blood. I can not see it passing as a stroke.”

“And at this dosage? Holmes handed over a note pad on which – in delicate blue pen – descended a list of dates and times with a number after. I recognized it at once – a schedule of medication with the dose in drops according to the Nightingale system.

I read the list twice though, hesitant of error. “This is the prescription I would write for a heart patient in great severity. If I knew nothing else of the case I would call this first class work.”

“Then let us refrain from accusation for now.”

“So there is a case? I ask because you set me to work when I had half expected to loll about for the week and then watch you produce your answer from your proverbial hat.”

“There is a case, Watson, a most serious one of grave injury and most pernicious theft. This crime lights my blood so that I should undertake it even if we did not benefit from so luxurious a country holiday.”

“So you grant that it is also a holiday?”

“Oh my dearest Watson, this will be quite the seaside tour.”

©0©0©0©

That night I shook back the sheets, checking for vermin. 

“Oh my, Holmes! Our tower princess was not such a maiden as she appeared.” 

“Well, spotted.” He inspected the stained bottom sheet, but it was as it appeared. Not that such stains were other than obvious. Nor were they strange to the bed linen of any man. 

I checked the wardrobe, hoping that the housekeeper had left clean sheets rather than departing with them under her arm. Some things may not be strange in theory, but when strange in fact are undesirably uncomfortable. 

“So we add a new speculation and dispose of another.”

“How so, Holmes?”

“Well, Watson. We know that there were two ladies in the household, yet we saw made up only one bed.”

©0©0©0©

The night was unexpectedly pleasant, the bed large and warm and very welcoming; the morning proved sadly less so. 

“Cold, Watson.” Holmes grumbled and pulled the quilt over his head. 

Stone walls do not retain heat so much as they gather damp, and even in spring the sea winds are chill.

“Come back to bed,” he grumbled. Rather say I thought those were his words, for the triple stack of blankets had quite muffled them.

I was tempted, but (with regret) succumbed to necessity, pulled up my inner campaigner, and stumbled out to start the fires.

“I shall make up some tea and we shall see how far you can be reinvigorated.”

Within the half hour I had him seated before the parlor fire wrapped in both our coats. Yesterday’s provisions had supplied today’s breakfast. With the return of warmth, so returned something approaching his usual energy.

“I do not know how we are to get back to town, Holmes.” I refilled his tea, tipping the last of the pot into my own cup. It was an excellent Oolong. One chosen, I suspected, as much to tweak our client’s pocket as for anticipation of its flavor, although I had no proof that my partner was not an expert on the oriental leaf.

“It’s not so bad a walk,” he assured me. “The road goes around, but if you’ve a stout stick and good boots you there’s a path down the mountain that will get a man there in an hour. I observed the first as we came in, and know you packed the second, so we may set out as soon as we were shaved and dressed.

Were I a credible man I should often suspect the great detective of supernatural as well as sagacious powers for little more than a quarter mile from the house there was indeed such a route as he had prophesied.

The path was extremely steep, in parts a staircase cut into the Cliffside. None not native could have discovered it save by chance.

“How did you know, Holmes?”

“A simple matter of geology combined with the data of the house and village.”

“Now you must explain.”

“From the village matron we knew that visitors from the house, being first the old nurse and later the governess Miss Hunter, came frequently to the village. From the house, we saw they kept no stable or wagon. The drayman from the rail yard spoke only of delivering packages, not of being summoned for passengers. Ergo? The ladies must have walked.”

We had travelled a good way and were heading though some thick forest when Holmes gripped my arm. “What a magnificent ruin!”

Such a word I would not have used, but on inspection I could make out a staggering of rocks and here and there a bit of carved stone that spoke of an earlier civilization.

“You think it part of the case?” I could imagine no connection between lost Romans and lost rubies, but drawing the web of strange links is the special genius of my partner’s talent. “Was there a murder here?”

“ Who will say, Watson? The dead here were so before England was born. That does not mean the place is not worth study.” 

He tilted bit of incised rock. I could see that someone else had agreed with him for the inscription had been brought out by a rubbing of charcoal.

He rose, shaking his head in slow sorrow. “If this has meaning, my dear Watson, it is only to explain how a topic of study and inborn intellect may immunize against the death of spirit Vernon Hargrave plotted for his niece.

©0©0©0©

“Come Watson. You must take this one.” Holmes had drawn me to a pause at the steps of a substantial business building just at the start of the main road.

“I, Holmes?”

He pointed out the gold letters marking the window. Silas Wellwood - Land Agent and Notary. “A respectable estate agent would hardly welcome a detective.”

Obedient, I gave the porter my card.

We were shown up quickly, meaning that village gossip had overtaken us. All the tricks of discuses and evasion were useless before such a force.

“Dr. Watson.” The agent greeted me with a firm handshake. “How are you enjoying Olipherts Eyre?”

“It is very quiet, Mr. Wellwood”

“Indeed, I do not think you could find a more peaceful spot in the county.” 

“Or a more private.”

“Making it perfect for a sanitarium or similar practice. Might you be thinking of buying? I do not mean to anticipate, but Mr. Hargrave has informed me he will be putting on the market. I handle most of the land work in Marwood, you understand. I allow myself a bit surprised that a London agent should send you here so quickly, as I had not been able to find anyone interested.”

Sherlock offered his blandest smile. “You were able to place it before.”

“Mr. Hargrave insisted on total isolation – and that the place can deliver in full.”

“Are there no neighbors?” I prompted.

“Very few. The lower grange is leased, but the contract is year to year and can be terminated at will. Although why you should wish it?” He gave a small chuckle, amused at Londoners and their fidgets. “Sheep, Dr. Watson, and very undisturbing neighbors.”

“What can you say about the previous tenant?” Holmes asked.

“Nothing at all.”

“I commend your professional discretion.”

“Do not overcredit me, sir. My meaning is I never spoke three words to anyone in that house except for the old woman, and her I spoke to as seldom as possible.”

We exchanged some more pleasantries and Silas Wellwood invited us to an entertainment to take place at the Happy Knight that night. It was in the form of a subscription ball gotten up by some of the navy officers wives, but Mr. Wellwood assured me that he had tickets to spare for us both. I should have demurred, knowing my partner’s low endurance of such matters, but this once he signaled that I should surrender to the offer.

“A most profitable visit. I am more confirmed in my expectations.”

“A county dance with musicians? Holmes, you will savage them.”

"On the contrary, my dear Watson, I shall be among them."

©0©0©0©

The Happy Knight was a large post-house on the port end of town. It served travelers in a better class of room than the tavern we have visited the day earlier and also boasted a large assembly room on the highest floor. It was not, strictly speaking, to be graced with the name of ballroom, but it was close enough to suffice for the rural set.

The publican had set out a full if simple table at one end of the hall – cakes and punch and cold meats well matched to vigorous exercise – and set out chairs against the long walls. On the far end there rose a low platform – little higher than a double hand – on which the performers would stand.

The musicians turned out not to be the usual country set but a merry nautical crew, tars on liberty while the ships refitted, and out to earn an honest shilling and an honest brew.

Holmes had the knack for matching any company and was soon at fellowship.

For myself, I found an equal ready welcome from the hostesses. I had worried when I had no evening dress, having not planned for more than working nights, but this proved no offence to the cheerful company. Indeed, the only comment was that I was not in uniform.

“A doctor?” Lucy Pedgrift, the wife of a Lieutenant Commander, had made it her task to extract my history. “From your bearing I should have taken you for a military man.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Pedgrift. I confess that the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers took me for one as well, although that was a few years back”. At the interrogation of her raised eyebrow I added “Captain.”

“Then, Captain Watson, you must join our dance.” She drew me towards the waiting ladies.

“I regret my leg will not allow.”

“Now I know you are an Army man,” she laughed, “for a Navy may dance on a peg.”

“You must dance, Captain Watson, for you see that we are short of men,” Mrs. Collins urged. Indeed, half our company left with the Dancing Hannah, and left us only green Lieutenants and Midshipmen to fill the party.”

That was a bold untruth, and a gracious courtesy to a pensioner, but he is no gentleman who quibbles with a lady. There might even have been some touch of truth, for while to my eye the hall was cheerfully full I recalled that my attendance had depended on a townsman having tickets to spare. 

“Did not some of the leaving officers take their young ladies with them and so rebalance the table? I am sure I heard that one married one of the local girls. Miss Hunter, was it not?”

“Dear Kate. Yes, she married Lieutenant Wright.”

“Such a lovely girl.” Mrs. Pedgrift’s voice grew soft with reminiscence. “Charming, and with such cheerful manners. She rather reminded me of my own maiden days.”

“You were a friend of hers?”

“As much as an old wife can be with a young miss. Kate was an orphan, you see, so she rather cherished our approval.”

That was a tempting opening. I pressed forward.

“Did you attend her wedding? From this dance I think it must have been a lively affair.”

“Sadly, no.” The lady sighed. “I would have, mind you, but it was a very small affair, merely the cleric and two witnesses.”

“Was that because her employer disapproved?”

“Nonsense, my dear Captain Watson. Miss Hargrave was thrilled for Kate’s happiness. Privately – and I hope you do not think me a gossip for so saying – but I think that’s why Kate insisted on a house wedding. So that Mary Hargrave could be her witness. Poor dear couldn’t travel you know. She was a deathly frail thing.”

“Far too true, Mrs. Pedgrift.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean it like that! Although? I do suppose you are right.”

I should, by the rules of narrative, complain now, but in truth it was a most enjoyable evening. Mrs. Pedgrift and her husband were gracious by nature and of a custom nostalgically familiar.

Land and time had softened the frictions between our two services, and the title Captain used with no more then a curl of wit for my land bound appellation.

“Tomorrow we have a picnic near Glintingham,” Lieutenant Clement urged as I collected my coat to go. “You must come with us.”

“Yes.” At I left Commander Collins slapped me firmly on my weak shoulder. “We’ll set you in command of the rowboat, and then you will be a Captain in truth.”

Holmes caught up with me in the roadway. Being dark, we again hired the station wagon for our ride home. The driver was all the more taciturn, the hour holding him late. Sherlock and I sat in the back, our conversation between ourselves.

My dear friend was not slow to tease me on my metaphorical dance card – something that in London remained blank. “I must say, Watson, this case has done well for you.”

“So long as I am not the only one being served. You did swear that all this social business was for a case.”

“So it is, and I have uncovered much to think upon.”

©0©0©0©

Morning came early, fortified by the last of the biscuits.

“What now Homes?” I asked as I packed our bags.

“I have seen all I can of the house. We shall rent horses and follow the sand to Claxton-on-Strand.”

“What could be there?””

“By your own discovery, the Dancing Hannah, the ship Thomas Wright is attached to. Doubtless where he is we may expect to find his new wed wife.”

©0©0©0©

It was nearing sunset when we reached the Blackburrow Hotel. While we had not travelled far, Holmes being taken with a mad fit to inspect every village church on the way. I humored him, both because I knew his nature and because… well… I confess the journey was itself a pleasant one compared to the usual rushing about of a case underway.

The Blackburrow was an impressive white structure fronting the sand. Not quite the Norfolk but built on their general lines and purpose; it added another twist to Sherlock’s sudden extravagance.

“I do hope this is on his bill as well?”

“Beyond question! A stay here is most indispensable to the resolution of our case, my dear Watson, a case that is nearly complete. No. I will say no more. You must trust me and bear your questions in patience.”

I was glad to hear that – or at least to be reassured of the first part. I had left Baker Street with Holmes before on our cases, but in the past we had either the advantage of police hospitality, having been called in on some particularly difficult case, or had stayed with the clients who had summoned us. In the later our shelter had, on occasion, been in elegant places, but that had been happenstance and not any particular choice of ours.

Our beasts and bags were collected with delightful alacrity, and on reaching the desk I was pleased to find that Holmes had telegraphed ahead for reservations.

I quickly memorized the placement of the restaurant, the reading room, and the parlor saloon. I noted also the very large number of young couples sharing couches upon the beach walk.

“Quite the honeymoon spot.”

Holmes, enigmatic annoyance that he is, did not reply.

“Let us dine in tonight, Watson.” Holmes spoke before the porter had settled our luggage. “We may order robes, and send our suits out to be pressed.”

I was glad for the suggestion for I had only packed two shirts, and neither was in a state to make me welcome to company without the labors of a faithful washerwoman. Holmes was in much the same state, and for all his indifference to his person and property when crime was in view I knew him also to be fastidious when the circumstance permitted.

I was also of a mind to enjoy his company in such relaxation but such suggestions would have to wait until the myrmidons of the hotel were far out of hearing. 

“Also.” Holmes stopped the boy as he was about to carry off our dinner order. “Can you bring up yesterdays paper?”

“Yesterdays, sir?” The young man looked up, confusion stamped on his broad features. “I can nip out and get today’s. It would be no trouble.”

“Thank you, but I have a peculiarity. I prefer to read the news after it has past. If you would collect as many past issues as you could?” Holmes passed the man a guinea.

“No trouble at all sir. The cook keeps them for kindling, so I think we have a month in the grate.”

“Excellent man. Bring them all!”

Thus vanished my plans for any enjoyment, for when Sherlock Holmes is in the arms of investigation none others can distract him – not even mine.

©0©0©0©

While the bed was soft and the sheets crisp, I am drawn now to remark on the modernity of the plumbing, and the richest luxury of all was that now common to the best hotels, for the room came with water not only hot and cold but with a third and smaller tap for boiling water suited for tea. As a young soldier I had learned the value of advance provisioning and retaining that wisdom had packed the leaf and a spare cup, basics for that libation which may soften the hardships of an Englishman’s too-soon-arriving dawn.

I carried my bounty over to my friend.

“Thank you, dear Watson, but we shall go down to breakfast this morning.”

He did not, however, but diverted to the reading room.

I hung back, not wishing to distract from his intent, while Holmes made a show of hunting though the writing desks. He turned the chairs, raising and shaking the cushions.

“Excuse me, sir.” The young man so addressing my partner wore a morning suit of slightly errant fit. He was clearly one of the hotel functionaries. “Is their some difficulty?” 

By expression the floor man implied that, were there not, he could soon supply the requisite via the expulsion of an obvious lunatic. Holmes, in return, showed in every thread and expression the image of a senior clerk on annual holiday.

“Do forgive the confusion, but I am staying in the hotel and I believe I may have misplaced my glasses. I use them only for reading, you see, and when I was done with the paper I must have set them down.” He looked up, blinking away myopia. “They are of a peculiar sort, dark blue lenses in a round steel frame.”

“I do not recall such glasses being turned in today.”

“Might you look? Just to comfort my mind.”

The servitor was clearly unwilling, but just as hesitant to offend a patron of the establishment. He strode to the front desk with a display of forbearing dignity.

“I do not think…” He began as he opened the drawer. “Oh. I do beg your pardon, sir. Here they are!” He held out the very pair of glasses Holmes had described. “I do not know how I missed them when I have been on duty all day.”

“No matter, so long as they are found.” Holmes tucked his prize into his jacket. “Thank you. You have done me a great service.” The gratitude was reinforced with another passed guinea.

“My pleasure, sir.” The speech, this time, was sincere.

“Theft, Holmes?” 

“It is hardly theft when one intends to return the property to its rightful owner. Although I doubt she will want these, given that she deliberately abandoned them.”

“What now?”

“You are the doctor. Would you not prescribe a stroll about these picturesque streets?

©0©0©0©

We walked inland for a few blocks, moving from the holiday region to one of more workday form. Here the houses were more humble, although still solid and well kept, and the floors had been sectioned as apartments for navy personnel and their families. The streets, while still broad and clean paved, were taken in the middle by the cluster of peddlers and barrow merchants that serve such wives as do their own housekeeping.

Holmes pointed out one particular tenancy towards the center of the block. The building was of red brick trimmed with local stone, fronted by a deep porch and a narrow strip of garden. “Hardly a castle of dissipation, but quite nice for a Lieutenant’s pay.”

I agreed. “Shall we call?”

“We would not find the mistress at home.” He scanned the street. “I think we should order tea – there, at that shop with the window – and let our perceptions encompass the neighborhood.”

Having lost my breakfast to the unexplained matter of the blue glasses, I made no objection to having it now. I was well into my second scone when a tap directed my attention out the window.

A young woman was coming down the street. She had a blue shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders and a basket on her arm; the later doubtless for the fish she was giving close consideration.

“What do you think of her, Watson?”

“Is that Kate Hunter?”

He did not answer, but I could not think what other woman he would take an interest in.

“She is not our Miss Hunter.” By that he knew I meant Miss Violet Hunter of a case long past.

“You knew that from the name, Watson. What of the woman that this Kate Hunter is?”

“A pretty young woman.” That was obvious, and for Holmes likely insignificant. “From her black curls she is no kin to the Violet Hunter we knew.”

“Had you expected scandal?”

“I do not call it scandal to allow for human nature, Holmes, and the natural years between the case at Copper Beaches and today would by that nature easily suffice to create another human.”

“Well put, doctor. I accept your correction.” He did so with a tap to his hat.

“As for this lady?” I returned to my inspection. “She looks to have a bit of the Italian about her, or perhaps of the Welsh. The crisp press of her apron shows she is a careful housekeeper. A good cook, given the way she inspected that fish. Good posture. Good health. Clever.”

Our subject had concluded with the fishmonger and was now in cheerful debate over a rope of young onions. 

“I should speculate that she is happy in her marriage. I should swear that her husband is, unless he is the greatest fool in Her Majesties service. A woman like that is, as the good book tells us, priced beyond rubies.”

“Observe her ears, Watson.”

That was difficult, given the wide hat she wore against the seaside sun. It was only after much focused observation that I caught the flash of red.

“The rubies,” I noted at last. “She is wearing them.”

“And you draw no inference from that?”

Holmes was right. I was no observer, teach me though he tried. Pierced ears were rare among respectable women, and for women of the middle class earrings reserved for evening occasions and the most formal of those occasions at that.

“I begin to feel for Hargrave.” I remarked. “Perhaps the Viennese are right and madness is contagious. It is one thing for a child to play in jewels – folly for the parent to allow it, but for the child they might as well be bead and tinsel. I should a woman grown more sensible.”

“She is not without good judgment in some matters, or so I should assess from this scene.”

A young officer had appeared, taking her by the hand. Her husband. One need not be Holmes to deduce that.

He was a tall young man, of good build and excellent posture. His complexion was somewhat ruddy, but with the tinge of salt and not of liquor. His step was wide but steady and his movements vigorous. In every aspect of his person and manner I viewed the signs of health and good character. He was also, if the scene was honest, quite fully devoted to his new wife.

Holmes raised his pastry in mocking toast. “Priced beyond rubies, and she has the blessing of coming with rubies added in.”

“Which I can not see as a crime, Holmes.” If by some strange legislation it was, then I still could not see it as a trespass that would draw my partner to action. “I grant that the gift of the rubies smacks of madness, but we have Hargrave's word that his niece was nigh mad. If she was given lifelong to fits of emotion, it must be more happenstance than strategy that her response to the then-Miss-Hunter was love instead of rage. Likewise the acceptance of the gift was dubiously done, but if it was not unlawful?” I considered the scone before me, which in it’s way was likewise a of questionable burden on Hargrove’s pocket. “It would take a higher churchman than I observe in myself to turn down a fortune, and more so a fortune that brings in it’s train a fortunate marriage.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow tilted sharply. “The woman tempted me and I fell?”

“In his case rose,” I corrected, “but that comes close enough.”

“Do not let assumption blind you, Watson. The clearest path is not always the straightest.” Holmes put down some comes in payment of the tea. “Time to return to the hotel.”

“We will not confront her?”

“Not today. We must send a telegram and instruct Vernon Hargrave to meet us here tomorrow. I am prepared to answer all matters.”

©0©0©0©

I must bless the South Eastern and Chatham Railway, for it was by the good graces of their schedule that I persuaded Holmes to enjoy the hotel breakfast. It was, I am glad to report, as excellent and extensive as the menu had promised. After three days of morning deprivation I indulged hardily and left the table a deeply satisfied man. [If the same could be said for other matters of our stay? The laws of narrative do not demand such details.]

We were resting with the morning papers when our client arrived. His aspect was flustered, much as one would expect of a man in great anticipation, but I could not call his expression as happy so much as anticipatory.

“You have news for me, Holmes?” he demanded, tossing his cane onto the side table.

“Most excellent news, Mr. Hargrave, for all it will greatly surprise you. You should sit down.” He indicated the nearest chair. “Dr. Watson, do stand ready.”

“For what?”

“Fear of shock, Mr. Hargrave. I should not want to risk your health when I tell you your niece Mary Catherine is not dead. She was instead stolen away, and I am prepared to return her to your loving bosom. Also the rubies, although I know that must be a lesser issue to a loving Uncle.”

The detective’s announcement had indeed staggered the man, but he responded with choler rather than faintness. Indeed, his red face made me worry that brain seizure might run in the family.

“The villains!” Hargrave shouted. “Where do they keep her?”

“She is kept on Beechy Street.” Holmes folded his paper and set it back on the rack. “Come.”

We followed close as Homes passed quickly back to the house he had noted the day before and, this time, knocked forcefully on the door.

He raised his hat. “Mrs. Wright? I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is Doctor Watson. May we come in?”

“Holmes! Why are we calling on that treacherous Hunter woman?” Hargrave interposed himself at the door. “You said my niece was here!”

“And so she is. Mr. Hargrave, allow me to introduce Mrs. Thomas Wright, who is also, by birth, Mary Catherine Hargrave. Of course you do not recognize her – you did not visit her for a decade past.”

"What, no rejoicing?” His faux innocence mocked the frozen pair.

Hargrave raised his cane. “You think you are clever.”

“Very clever, for I have fulfilled your contract and you owe me a thousand pounds.”

“How did you know, Mr. Holmes? Catherine Wright’s voice was as soft as her face. She was worried, but not fearful, and as confident as might be required of a woman in her twenties.

“I have the advantage of being better acquainted with the Westaway Agency than is your uncle and have done some service for Miss Stoper in the past. She was glad to open her books and reveal all details of the governess she had dispatched. Also, I have the habit of remembering the names even of unimportant women, such as country governesses. Miss Violet Hunter was sent but a Kate Hunter suddenly appeared in the village scene. The connection is obvious.”

“So what became of Violet Hunter?” I had some concern for the lady, she being of my acquaintance.

“She was lady who sat knitting”, Holmes answered. “I think she was not well.” 

“She was very ill, Mr. Holmes. Her heart betrayed her on the train, and it is a miracle she came alive to Marwood, but she would not return to London. Truly she could not for fear of poverty.”

Catherine Wright had lead us into her parlor. The chamber was small, even for our company of four. I stood by the fireplace while she continued her tale.

“Someone needed to handle the shopping and such, and she could not walk past a few steps, so she gave me her glasses and sent me on her tasks. I ran all the errands and took care of her as she had intended to serve me. It may sound strange, Mr. Holmes, but I found I did not mind. Village life was… life.”

I found myself nodding. For myself I should rather be a tweeny in freedom – less far than a Governess – than a prisoner in a satin cage.

“We had agreed only to carry the deception on until she was well enough to take up her work, but then I met Thomas.” At that name a blush tinted her ivory cheek.

“A ship in town is a whirl of dances and subscription dinners,” Holmes observed. “It would bring out the wildness in the most introverted girl – and that Mrs. Wright never was.”

“No”, she laughed lightly, “I’ve got my mother’s blood in me. But what of it? If Thomas does not complain it is no man else’s concern.”

Holmes spread his hands. “She was of age. She had no close kin. She wished to marry. She did.” Turning my way he added, “That was my last clue, and the cause of all those church inspections, for Mary Catherine Hargrave wisely married under her true name”

“And what of Miss Hunter? The real Miss Hunter?” That question still bothered me.

“Dear Violet was happy for me. She was my friend, my witness at church, and I had God been merciful she would have come with me for life in thanks for the kindness that gave me my marriage.”

“But she was also dying. Which she knew.”

“She did indeed, Mr. Holmes. I swear she was a more Christian soul than I could hope to be, and as brave as any sailor in the Queen’s navy.”

“She also knew your uncle would rage, and he is an influential man.”

“Not good for the career of a young navy officer.” Or so I assumed. Surely an elopement would have done no favors for my army career.

“Was it her idea to arrange her burial in your name?” Holmes asked.

“Yes, and her plan also how to set matters so I could take my inheritance with me. These are mine, you understand.” She touched the gems at her neck and ear. “Every stone was a gift to my mother from her mother, and no part of the estate my hated uncle stole.”

Glaring at Hargrave she concluded. “He is dead to me. I chose to be dead to him.”

“Fair enough.” Holmes stood. “Although for my advice I should hire a lawyer to look at the accounts. A captaincy is not cheap, Mrs. Wright, and your husbands talents shall require one sooner than you might anticipate. “ He cut off Hargrave’s protest with a look. “Your uncle is not the only man with influence in this government.”

©0©0©0©

“So tell me, Holmes?” I asked as our train carried us back to London and Baker Street. “When did you deduce this matter? Was it the papers?”

“Hardly, Watson. I simply needed the service news to learn our missing woman’s arrival date and address.”

“Then it was the churches?”

“Simply a matter of confirmation, and the proof by date that the real Miss Hunter was alive at the time of the marriage.”

“Perhaps, then, it was the party at the Happy Knights? Or perhaps something you learned from Silas Wellwood the land agent?”

“You over credit them, Watson. Our visit to Mr. Wellwood was to learn the local character of Hargrave, and the party to discover the same about Thomas Wright.”

At my surprised look he added. “You did not think I would reveal a young lady to a villain like Hargrave if I did not think she had a sufficient protector. Lieutenant Wright proved to be a well regarded young officer who, given a bit of protection for his career and postings, might reliably be trusted with a young woman’s happiness.”

“Then it was the house. You deduced once you discovered the medicine bottle that Miss Hargrave had exchanged roles with Miss Hunter.”

“The medicine and invalid couch did provide some finishing details, that is true, but it merely confirmed the obvious.”

“What, then! Where did you find the clue that I did not?”

“In the train out, my dear Watson. In the train out.”

“What?” That made no sense at all. Even if some detail had remained or some property been overlooked, Violet Hunter would never have travelled in first class. I said as much, to the great and annoying amusement of my friend.

“We traveled first class because that is the car with the least occupied porters and ticket collectors. Those in the more populated cars are too taken by their duties to chat with travelers.”

“You can not mean that some random porter uncovered the mystery!”

“Understand that, while the classes of the cars vary, the employees of the rail company do not. It is rather that they are assigned as the composition of each train requires, working one day in third class and the next in first or even private car service. Thus there is a hearty fellowship among the crew, with gossip the main coin of exchange. Our car attendant was more than happy to share the story of a woman who collapsed on the way to Marwood, complete with salacious details of the corsets loosened and the physician called.”

“From that – the story of an ill woman travelling months before – you deduced all?”

“I suspected from the first. We both knew Miss Violet Hunter. For her to change both her name and her character seemed unlike the lady. I grant, however, that I was not certain until the provision shop.”

“There, Holmes? What could the shopkeeper have revealed of such importance.”

“The glasses, Watson. They were such a conspicuous detail. It was there that Violet Hunter failed at conspiracy. Let that be the lesson here. A disguise should be simple. It is the concealment that makes one obvious.”

***FINIS DOYLE GRATIA***

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that this is the least popular thing I have EVER written. Seriously. By about 90%. That's OK. Musey does what she will.
> 
> This is an effort to recreate the 'canon' Holmes form - specifically the language and pace of the Strand Magazine stores - while obeying the anachronistic 'Rules of Fair Play' and also… yes… my personal head canon.
> 
> So far there has been a lot less sex than anticipated. What can I say? Watson is shy.
> 
> [And Musey does what she will.]


End file.
